


Post-Kerberos

by Wrennydennydoo



Series: Filling the Holes [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Pidge | Katie Holt, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Keith centric, M/M, We hope, keith loves coffee, keith loves his bike, keith loves revolution, keith loves shiro, keith needs to be protected, klance, shiro is keith's legal guardian, stray cats, that's how they know each other, this fanfition was an accident, we'll see how far we get, what is shiro and matt's ship name, what's a happy ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2018-09-15 18:30:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9250397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrennydennydoo/pseuds/Wrennydennydoo
Summary: “I have stories, all right. But I dunno if I could do them justice,” he said. He sounded sad, and some of the elder peoples wondered if the man with the hood should just leave. Sad stories were not particularly popular.The youngers were having none of it. “Tell us a story! Tell us a story!” They clamored. A series of hands pulled him towards the fire, pulled him down to sit by it and tell his story.The elders muttered, “and make it a happy one.” The man with the hood took a deep breath.“A long time ago, on a planet very, very far away, the crew of a spaceship was on a mission to a small moon. The mission failed, but the pilot (who was the second best pilot on the planet) was blamed...”





	1. Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you have any stories? Money means nothing to us,” smiled the one who had returned his jacket to him.
> 
> “I have stories, all right. But I dunno if I could do them justice,” he said. He sounded sad, and some of the elder peoples wondered if the man with the hood should just leave. Sad stories were not particularly popular.

The planet was tiny. The planet was barely noticeable. It was dwarfed by the others in its system. The man in the hood had admired it from a distance, finding it far more beautiful than the others. The planet was flame orange, from the ‘greenery’ to the blush-colored water, the neon pink crust and the purple canyons, getting darker the deeper they burrowed.

 

The man in the hood had felt it familiar, and admired it up close too.

 

The peoples were tiny. The peoples were isolated due to lack of interstellar communication, but not completely isolated. The peoples were similar to the planet- relatively undisturbed and smaller than the average bipedal alien, but by far more gorgeous.

 

The man in the hood got deja vu from watching their silvery hair shaking; it was kept long and curly as part of their culture. Each community was small and organized. Each community was friendly and welcoming. The man in the hood kept expecting something to attack him.

 

The man in the hood was a paranoid bastard, and Should Not Be Bothered by the peoples of the community.

 

The peoples of the community didn’t get the memo.

 

It was tradition, apparently, to bother all travelers passing through. The man in the hood was not amused. They forced hospitality upon him, taking his old and beaten hood and cleaning it. They even made him remove the blue, ragged, barely fitting jacket from under the overcoat and let them repair it. He rested the night period there, in a rose colored atmosphere surrounded by familiar landmarks. The morning came quickly; so did the afternoon, then the evening (you see, this planet rotated quite swiftly). A large fire had been set up in the midst of the low-roofed buildings. The three moons were luminescent in the sky when the man, once again in his hood and coat, insisted on paying the peoples before departing.

 

“Do you have any stories? Money means nothing to us,” smiled the one who had returned his jacket to him.

 

“I have stories, all right. But I dunno if I could do them justice,” he said. He sounded sad, and some of the elder peoples wondered if the man with the hood should just leave. Sad stories were not particularly popular.

 

The youngers were having none of it. “Tell us a story! Tell us a story!” They clamored. A series of hands pulled him towards the fire, pulled him down to sit by it and tell his story.

 

The elders muttered, “and make it a happy one.” The man with the hood took a deep breath.

“A long time ago, on a planet very, very far away, the crew of a spaceship was on a mission to a small moon. The mission failed, but the pilot (who was the second best pilot on the planet) was blamed...”

* * *

 

Shiro breaks the news to him quickly.

 

“I’m leaving,” He says at dinner. They’re both sitting on the squeaky couch in the living room, surrounded by dust and books. Keith swallows some stale eggo waffle and sets his plate down, not quite understanding.

 

“…What do you mean by ‘leaving’?” Keith asks. His heart speeds up a little. “Cause if you’re kicking me out of your house, I need at least three years notice.”

 

Shiro cracks a smile and rubs the back of his neck. “That was badly worded. I got put on another mission. I’m leaving-”

 

“For space,” Keith finishes. Keith’d be more upset, except _space. Shiro is going to space. Again._ “What mission?”

 

“To Kerberos. I’d tell you what we’re doing but it’s a little classified,” Shiros says. Keith thinks for a second- Kerberos. He knows that name.

 

“Hold on- you’re going to Pluto? How long will you be?”

 

Shiro shrugs and dumps more maple syrup onto his plate. “I don’t know. It depends on how long it takes to complete the assignment they’re giving us. Maybe a year? At most?”  

 

Keith fidgets with a hair tie around his wrist. This is the longest period of time Shiro will have ever been away-before, it was three months.

 

“Are you going to be ok while I’m gone?” Shiro asks. “This is longer than you’re used to. I haven’t accepted the mission yet, so if you’re not comfortable with it-”

 

“I’m fine with it,” Keith cuts him off. “It’s cool.”

 

“I talked with the Commander, he extended an invitation for you to stay with his wife and kid while I’m gone-”

 

Keith sighs. Shiro is legally his dad, but usually acts like a friend. They’ve only eaten waffles and takeout for the past three days. Keith hasn’t slept in twenty-three hours. Shiro hasn’t slept in thirty. Parental is usually the last adjective he’d use to describe Shiro.

 

Shiro is nervous about this.

 

“Shiro. I’m eighteen, I’ll be fine on my own. You should accept the mission.” Except Keith knows he won’t be fine on his own. But whatever. Shiro smiles at him, says ‘ok’ in his nerd voice with his nerd face and starts talking about flight dynamics and the cool spacecrafts they’re using, and Keith thinks everything will be ok.

 

Everything isn’t ok.

 

Three months into the mission, and Keith finds he isn’t ok. The worry had been present from the moment those words left Shiro’s mouth;   _I’m leaving_ seems so much more simple with a time limit. Keith had said goodbye at the launch site, had met the crew and then waved them off in a second. The Holts seemed nice enough, and Shiro got along well with them. He even seemed to think Keith didn’t see him looking at Matt- _geez, Shiro, bad timing on that crush-_ and then Keith had watched the launch, and then Keith had left on his bike, and gone home, and the next day the new semester started at the Galaxy Garrison.

 

So three months in to the mission, Keith gets a sinkinig feeling in his stomach as he’s called to the principles office of the Galaxy Garrison.

 

It takes three and a half seconds for him to realize that the people in the office were all at the takeoff site, were all present at the launch, are all associated with the Kerberos mission. One of them is Mrs. Holt, and her eyes are red. They all turn to look at him as he enters. Mrs. Holt holds out her hand for a handshake.

 

“I don’t know if you remember me- Commander Holt is…Was my husband,” she wavers. The past tense gets him. Keith starts backing towards the open door.

 

“No.” he says. “No, no, no no no, he said he’d be back.”

 

“Keith… Keith, sweetie, Takashi isn’t coming back-“

 

The space that Keith occupied is filled by an audible rush of air, and the door out slams shut. Later, curled in his dorm room, Keith looks online to verify the rumors he’s heard.

 

Shiro- is - was only human? Shiro is gone? What? No? The fuck? Shiro- isn’t infallible.

 

Keith turns his phone off.

 

He hears the rest of the story from Mrs. Holt, who finds him staring at the ceiling in his room and offers a cup of herbal tea.

 

“They say… They say it was pilot error,” she murmurs. Keith flinches a bit. “I… this is… I’m sorry.”

 

Keith wonders why she’s still here.

 

“I… my daughter was at school all day. She doesn’t know yet,” Mrs. Holt keeps talking. “I know we don’t know each other that well. But if you need anything, anything at all…”

 

Keith hears a pen scratching, then the rip of paper. He doesn’t look up.

 

The door opens and closes and Keith is alone.

 

After dinner, all students are called to an assembly. Keith doesn't go. Instead, he sneaks by the guards into the bathrooms, and waits until there are no more footsteps. Then he heads back to his room- he doesn't need the attention from his peers right now.

 

Shiro- is gone?

 

This is too big a query for him to ponder- barely noticing, Keith’s cheeks get damper as he realizes _exactly how big space is_. Inevitability feels crushing- Pluto is months, years away without enough funding and after this _fiasco_ there is no earthly or unearthly chance of the Galaxy Garrison or IASA getting its hands on the money to launch an investigation, not unless the crew were still alive and even then the _crew would be dead by the time help reaches them._ And Keith knows this, wiping a garish orange uniform sleeve against his face as he wanders through empty corridors.                                                He almost trips into a trashcan when, loudly and suddenly, there are shouts from an office down the hall. Iverson-because it's always Iverson- yells, "You again? Get off my computer! How did you get past the guard?"

 

Keith creeps towards the steel doors, staying behind the waste bins at the corridor intersection. There's another voice that he doesn't recognize, shouting words that make his heart cold.

 

"You said the space craft went down due to pilot error. I saw the video feed from your probes, there's no evidence of a crash anywhere on Kerberos!" Keith's palms are sweaty. He can hear Iverson scowl, the implications hitting Keith as if he stepped in dog poop. _No evidence of a crash means the Galaxy Garrison is lying means that something happened out of the ordinary why would they lie-_

 

"Those feeds are classified. I could charge you with treason for hacking into them!" The other person is pushed into the hallway- their face is familiar.

 

Keith remembers Matt Holt=, remembers the family at the launch site. Shiro had a huge, gay crush on his crew mate- he wouldn't shut up about it. It's not Matt. Matt is gone with Shiro and his huge gay crush.

 

The person looks ready to fight. "Where's my family?"

 

Iverson signals a guard and in the hallway he looks oddly gleeful. "Escort _Ms_. Holt off the premises; make sure every guard knows she's never allowed on Garrison property ever again."

 

The girl, presumably Matt's sister, is so thin the burly guard can wrap a hand completely around her bicep. Her face is tormented and haunted-Keith realizes she reached the same conclusion he did. He wonders how long she’s known. Keith wants to reach out and hug her.

 

"YOU CAN'T KEEP ME OUT! I'LL FIND THE TRUTH, I'LL NEVER STOP!

 

They drag her away, kicking and screaming.

  
 


	2. Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What does she know that I don't? Why would they lie?

Keith can’t think, because what? The actual hell? The last Holt at the Galaxy Garrison was Matt Holt Keith knows sure as his name is Keith that there are no Holts currently enrolled. As family, she would have found out around the time he did.

So how did she get here so quickly? How did she know to look into the disappearance? _What does she know that I don’t?_ He thinks he hyperventilates himself back to his room, where he spends the next week thinking about it and not going to class.

It wasn’t pilot error. The Kerberos mission had landed. But- Shiro is-was?- in space. Shiro is by Pluto, months away from rescue. _If Shiro isn’t dead, where is he?_

The bed creaks as he lunges downwards, unable to sleep. Insomnia was manageable before, but now? His palms are sweaty, and his feet are too disobedient. He can hear a disapproving voice in his head. _Running at night is not conducive to a healthy mental state, Keith_. His room-mate barely stirs as he heads for the Garrison gym.

The lights are off; curfew was hours ago, and students aren’t allowed out of the barracks after nine. Keith learned long ago that the guards never think to check the gym for students. Keith starts a treadmill and jogs, without shoes and in pajamas.

_Shiro could be alive._

He runs as long as he can, until just before breakfast. He stretches while he waits for the hallways to clear.

Tuesdays are worse than Mondays- bad breakfast, bad consequences for being in the hallways during dead periods, teachers grumpy over missing breakfast. Unfortunately, breakfast is a dead period- a terrible idea, as most of the students sleep through half of it and take it as a (futile) challenge to sneak in. Keith never gets caught- it’s easier just to skip breakfast.

When he gets back to his room, there’s a note taped to the door asking him to go to the guidance counselor’s office immediately. He _has_ missed two sessions that week- two, one for anger management, and one for- Shiro. But the way the note is written, Keith assumes that his roommate told someone he wasn’t in the room last night.

Keith sighs, grabs a towel and a change of clothes. He heads to the showers.

Unsurprisingly, they’re empty, and the water is still hot. Yay for small miracles.

As he washes his hair, he thinks- the Galaxy Garrison _lied._ Part of the IASA, International Aeronautics and Space Administration, lied- this was huge. If it were revealed, it would be a huge scandal. Or Holt, Matt’s little sister, whatever her name is, she lied, which is improbable. She has no motive.

 _It wasn’t pilot error._ Then what was it?

 _She_ had said the mission landed. They had probes set up. Therefore, the mission had landed.

Then... _Technical failure?_ Equipment failing could be dealt with, and if not, they would have made a public announcement and made a scapegoat of an engineer or extra hand, not treasured pilot Takashi Shirogane. _Right?_ Keith didn’t know enough about Kerberos to say if natural disturbances on the surface were common, but if mission failure was due to a quake, there was no reason to cover that up.

 _Why would they lie?_ Sabotage was taken very seriously among the international science committee- and a saboteur would need a motive. But if it were sabotage, _why would they blame it on “pilot error?”_

_And where is Shiro?_

By the time Keith gets dressed, he has re-reasoned to one mostly plausible theory: Galaxy Garrison, and by extension the IASA, were covering up because they were afraid, or unsure of something. Something probably not of Earth that they would consider too dangerous or too radical to tell the public about- or at least not without substantial proof-

Keith doesn’t allow himself to think any further. That’s scary. That’s huge. If his theory is correct, then- where is Shiro?

 _Where is Shiro?_ _Fuck you, existential crisis._

He gives up avoiding the guidance councilor before lunch- official lunch, not just his weird eating habits lunch. He can see Dr. Evans waiting for him, right outside the door of the cafeteria. He resolves to join her for a discussion on the finer arts of emotions and bullshitting- but later, because _holy shit aliens probably exist and- if Shiro’s alive what then?_

He skips lunch to think on the roof of the school.

It’s peaceful, for a while, and he wishes he could pull his hair back so it doesn’t keep getting in his face. It’s very windy out, and his hair is slightly longer than the regulation cut.

Keith hears the roof door opening on its squeaky hinges, and he’s fully prepared to get yelled at when an instructor finds him on the roof- but it’s a student. Keith vaguely knows this person, he’s on the cargo pilot track. The kid is humming to himself when he shuts the door, but when he turns around he yelps, almost dropping his lunch tray.

“AH! Oh, man, you, sir, are a ninja. Uh, I didn’t, like, interrupt you up here or anything- um, I’ll just go,”

Keith wants to encourage that very much, except. Food. Keith hasn’t eaten since dinner last night, and he jogged something like 8 miles earlier. So out of the kindness of his heart, (and the hope in his stomach) he says, “Nah, you’re fine,” and hoping he remembers this kid’s name correctly, “Lance, right?”

The kid looks surprised at being recognized. “Uh, yeah, that’s me. Mind if I sit down?”

Keith shakes his head, but his stomach answers for him. It’s a loud and embarrassing growl. Lance sets the tray down and swings his legs over the edge of the roof.

“Hey, d’you wanna share? Are you skipping lunch?” 

Keith nods and shamelessly grabs a french fry. “Yeah,” he admits, “And breakfast.” 

Lance whistles and brushes his brown hair out of his eyes. “Man, if I skipped more than one meal at a time I’d be starved!” and then, watching Keith really go down on the fries, “Here, just take the rest.”

“Thanks,” Keith mutters. If he’s being honest with himself brown-hair-pilot-lance is a little attractive, and that makes him all the more annoying. Keith waits for him to leave; human interaction was never his strong point.

“So, short handsome stranger,” Lance says, and short-circuits Keith’s brain in the process. “What’re you doing up on this lovely rooftop, skipping both lunch and breakfast?”

Keith honestly can’t think of anything. “Um.” Keith says.

“I’m avoiding teachers at the moment.”

Lance nods sagely. “Ah, yes, the ol’ ‘they can’t give you detention if they can’t find you’ strategy.” 

“Some us don’t get identified in the first place,” Keith mutters, and Lance chuckles.

“Ah, bro, low blow!” Keith shoves food in his mouth so he doesn’t have to respond, tunes out Lance and his tiny smile lines at the corners of his mouth, and prays for the bell to ring soon, because _Shiro was fucking kidnapped by aliens and holy shit where does that leave me?_

The bell rings pretty soon after Lance gives up his food.

“You’ll be back in flight unit next week, yeah?” Lance glances at the back of Keith’s head, pushing himself to his feet. Keith can feel his eyes, and it’s less of a question and more of an expectation.

  
Keith shrugs. This- concern? Interest?- from brown-hair-pilot-lance is disconcerting. They barely know each other. Keith usually receives friendly suggestions like this from only Shiro- _Received. Received this concern only from Shiro._

 _Shiro is gone._ He takes a deep breath. 

By the time he pulls himself out of outer space, Lance is gone too.

 _That’s a real travesty_. Keith dryly comments in his head, staring at the azure sky, cloudless over miles of desert, rocky and dry and red, and resigns himself to death by guidance counselor. Or death by being late to class. If he hurries, he might make it, and would have an excuse not to go talk to Dr. Evans.

Admiring a passing bird, Keith thinks he may have forgotten what his class schedule is. Shiro would be disappointed.

 _Shiro isn’t here,_ Keith sharply reminds himself. _He could still be alive, though- no. I’m not going through this. If he’s out there, I’ll find him._

_...I have to pass all my classes first..._

Guidance counselor. Right.

 

* * *

 

Dr. Evans is Not Nice to Keith.

She’s perfectly fine to him, treats him nicely, cares about his emotions- but not too much, because it’s her job to decide every year if Keith (and all the other pilot wannabes) can handle the the stress of being a pilot. She holds a special place in her heart (and filing cabinet) for Keith.

He’s still trying to decide if that’s lucky or unlucky.

She starts out simple, smiling and greeting him at the door. “So, how has your week been?”

She gestures to a bean bag. Her office is all cool colors, with a desk in the corner, but a coffee table surrounded by pillows and blankets is where she does business. Keith shrugs noncommittally. “I talked to a person this morning. That counts as ‘positive social interaction, right?”

He’s casual. He’s just here to check off boxes on a piece of paper.

 _Come on, Keith, don’t be like this. You don’t need to tell me what’s wrong, but if you want to, I’m here; I won’t push you. Wanna watch a movie?_ The voice that sounds like Shiro comes out of nowhere and hits him like a truck.

When this is over, Keith decides to marathon Star Wars.

“-Keith? Is there something wrong?” Right. Dr. Evans is weird about him phasing out. 

“I’m fine. I just... Had a thought.” She smiles, calculating but no less warm.

“Would you like to share it?” It is a question, but devoid of all curiosity. Keith sinks deeper into his beanbag.

“No.”

Suddenly, she switches tracks. “So, who’d you meet this morning?”

“One of the other pilots found me on the roof.” Immediately he knew this was the wrong thing to say. Students aren’t supposed to have access to the roof, and she’d interpret him being up there exactly wrong.

She frowns. “What were you doing up there?” There it is. 

“Thinking. It’s very peaceful up there,” he says, looking up.

“I meant both of you,” She clarifies. “Did you talk?” _Well, duh._

“No. Mostly he... chattered, while I ate all his food.” As an afterthought, Keith addded, “and the cafeteria food is decreasing in quality. I’m pretty sure that stuff isn’t approved by the health center. 

“So you have eaten today.”

“Yes.” 

“You have also been skipping meals.” 

“Yeah.”

“You’ve also been skipping class,” Dr. Evans presses.

“Ok.”

She raises the clipboard. “Your roommate came to me this morning and said that you disappeared last night. He also informed me,” She flipped a page, “that you’ve been having increasingly disturbing dreams in which you’ve cried out multiple times, which you typically wake from after about ten minutes, then don’t sleep the rest of the night.

“You just lost a very close family member. You’ve skipped class, and guidance sessions, all week. If you want to continue at the Galaxy Garrison, you need to talk to someone." 

Keith grits his teeth and breathes.

“You’ve lost someone very close to you. It’s completely understandable if you need time away from class, but you can’t shut everyone out. The death of a loved one isn’t something you brush off, Keith-” 

“Shiro isn’t dead!” It rushes out. “Shiro...Shiro isn’t dead.”

“Keith. Where is Shiro?” She watches with careful curiosity, and asks with genuine interest. He folds his face into his hands. _You shouldn’t risk this, Keith. Your education is important- Shiro is important, and out there._

“I can’t tell you yet.” It comes out muffled. He knows that denial is the first stage of grief. He knows that he’s running the risk of getting marked as ‘unstable’ and having to quit Galaxy Garrison by doing this.

“Would you like to explain your thought process?” Same tone of voice; She’s writing in her head, into that file in her cabinet.

He can hear what she’s telling him. _If you aren’t careful, you’ll get kicked out._ He needs to be careful.

“I think... I think there might be more to the story. But if I’m wrong, it’ll sound bad. So if it’s all the same to you,” It’s not all the same to her, he can see it in her eyes, “I’ll keep my theory to myself until it’s proven.” 

“That’s fine. I look forward to hearing your theory someday.” Her perfectly manicured fingernails pick at a hanging thread on her own beanbag in bright yellow. “Anything else you’d like to talk about?”

Keith shrugs, about to get up and leave, when he pauses and says, “Actually, do you have a spare copy of my schedule? I can’t remember when any of my classes are.” He even shoots her a cheeky (and fake) smile as she pulls a sheet of green paper from her clipboard and hands it over.

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” Dr. Evans says to his back. Keith shuts the door on his way out, unclenching his fists.

 _That wasn’t so bad._

Now he has his priorities straighter.

Pass Galaxy Garrison classes and graduate. Become pilot on the next mission. Get in space, help advance space technology, discover alien races, find Shiro. _He might as well be dead. He might be dead if-when- I find him. I will find him._ Keith feels oddly invigorated. He has a purpose. He can do this- but after he takes a four-hour nap. Jogging is tiring and so is not eating. 


	3. He almost makes it to the end before he fucks it all up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith quirks an eyebrow. "You've been practicing that."
> 
> She huffs and tosses her hair behind her. "Of-fuckin-COURSE I have, mister-I'm-gonna-disappear-on-my-best-friend-for-two-months! Seriously, where have you been?"

Keith spends the next month _not_ getting kicked out of Galaxy Garrison.

It’s harder than he thought it would be. It seems like every five seconds some stupid cadet is asking him about Shiro, about if he thinks Shiro fucked up and killed the crew, about if he ever needs an ear to hear his troubles ‘you can totally come to me, Keith!’ ‘I totally understand your loss, my dog died last year and I was devastated!’

Keith just wants to be left alone.

All the instructors are being completely normal, too normal, normal as in _I pushed over a potted plant during class on purpose earlier and instead of giving me detention the student next to me had to pick it up_ normal. It makes him feel on edge, and he wonders if he could get away with wearing non-uniform clothing- maybe all black. Shiro thought-thinks?- it was too edgy of him, stale memes and inside jokes lurking in the back of Keith’s head at the thought. 

_Should I think about him in past or future tense?_ Keith wonders during free training in the gym. His treadmill is isolated in the corner, and everyone else is avoiding him. This maybe-dead Shiro thing is hurting his head.

Suddenly, there’s a person on the next treadmill over.

Keith doesn’t look over. If he ignores the sudden (and probably intentional) movement, it’ll go away.

“Hey man, what’s up?” Today is not the best day for this encounter, but sure enough, he turns his head and Lance is jogging next to him. Keith shrugs as best he can, gives a thumbs up, and pretends to be out of breath. He doesn’t want to talk. He’s been in a bad mood since the teachers ran out of coffee, and there’s no more for him to mooch until the weekend.

Shiro used to supply coffee for him. Maybe one of the other cadets has a stash he can steal from. He speeds up the treadmill.

Quickly, Keith’s life becomes Before Shiro, During Shiro, and After Shiro- and it feels like an accident. He doesn’t mean to characterize his life through one person. It’s not like there weren’t other people that meant just as much before they left, like; ah. Well.

There haven’t been any other people who’ve left.

There haven’t been many other people that have existed.

It’s just Shiro.

On a night Keith can barely stand himself, he makes a stupid decision. Granted, that isn't unusual for him, but the desert feels especially alive tonight, and that doesn't help. The window is thrown open. A hot breeze blows through. Keith feels on edge. He's tired, but not tired- the night is awake.  
  
He makes his decision. Black pants, pj shirt, boots, and out the window he goes. One, two, three, four, five, six- run. Wait- one, two, three, four, five, six, seven- blind spot. Go. The night patrol operates on a steady system. Keith memorized it in his first year. It isn't hard. It used to be- he's gotten better. Out the window with the broken alarm, and to the section of the fence that’s easy to slip under.  
  
He's out.  
  
He rolls his shoulders. Keith walks into town. The town is small. Most of the economy is from tourism-there's a local museum and gift shop, and the Garrison offers tours of the facilities every Tuesday and Friday. Everyone knows everyone. Keith grew up here-or, around here; shuttled across at least three towns through five foster parents. He can't remember much. But this place, it stuck- between a rock and a hard place, Keith chose the rock. He wonders if he'll ever leave. It's so small, sometimes he can't breathe. Everyone knows everyone. Everyone knows him, specifically. Keith avoided going into town the last month- Shiro was well liked, and he has no patience for platitudes.

When he approaches Tammy at the 24-hour corner store cash register, she barely looks up when she tells him the total for the bag of coffee. He almost smiles when she does a double take.  
  
"KEITH KOGANE, where the FUCK have you been, young man!" She shouts. "I haven't seen you in WEEKS, and you show up in the middle of the night on a weekday, when I can't even monopolize your time for the rest of the day! For SHAME!"  
  
Keith quirks an eyebrow. "You've been practicing that."  
  
She huffs and tosses her hair behind her. "Of-fuckin-COURSE I have, mister-I'm-gonna-disappear-on-my-best-friend-for-two-months! Seriously, where have you been?"  
  
He shrugs and pushes a crinkly ten-dollar across the counter. "In school, the usual."  
  
She studies the way Keith hunches in on himself, the scratch on his cheek that looks old and untended to, the crust in the corner of his eyes, his over-large faded shirt that doesn't belong on his shoulders. He looks sad and tired, and Tammy knows people. She knows body language, she knows faces, she knows Keith. Not _that_ well, but she’d like to think that they’re close. And of course she knows what happened- it was on the news. There were droves of reporters hanging out, talking to locals, trying to get into the Galaxy Garrison. She knew Shiro, too, but- Keith.  
  
He's defeated.  
  
It's not a good look for him.  
  
"If you say so, bro. Look, this weekend we’re gonna hang, so you better get your ass in town so we can talk," and she reaches a hand over the counter, to where Keith's is resting, "and hey."  
  
She leans over to give him an awkward half hug over the counter.  
  
"I got your back, bro," Tammy says. "If anyone asks..."  
  
"I was never here," Keith finishes. His eyes are watery.  
  
It's been a long two months.

He walks back to his room in a daze, emotionally exhausted. Keith isn’t sure how he makes it back without getting caught. He missed Tam.

He misses Shiro. 

 

* * *

 

 

Slipping back into his room is like a cup of coffee- dark, silent, and it makes him jittery. Back in bed, Keith curls his fingers into his hair and cries himself to sleep. The next day is just as taxing as he thinks it’ll be.

He works his way through a block of classes, and ignores Lance waving him over during lunch. Keith doesn’t want to talk to anyone. He doesn’t want to eat. He feels like he might puke if he opens his mouth.

The guilt eats at Keith, because _I completely forgot about Tammy, oh god Tam she’s your friend too_ and _Shiro Shiro Shiro Shiro._ Keith may or may not cry himself to sleep.

Two days later, Keith goes into town for the weekend. He remembers he has a phone, too, that he had turned off after Shiro- yeah. When he checks it, he as a million messages from Tammy. The latest include:

**Keith, get yo butt into town**

**Keith  
Yo, bro, answer me**

**It’s friday don’t forget**

**Star wars marathon?**

It’s easy to acquiesce. Tammy is similar to him, too, so they avoid all mentions of anything. He doesn’t ask about the broken picture of her and her girlfriend, she doesn’t talk about the fact that his legal guardian was declared dead two weeks ago, legally, and Keith wasn't even there. It’s fine. It’s normal.

They do that every weekend, and each week seems a tiny bit brighter. Keith’s sessions with Dr. Evans become more open. He has bad days. They become less frequent. Not talking about it helps- it’s like Before, when Keith almost never saw Shiro anyways because of his job in Outer Space. He can pretend, but it’s almost certainly not healthy.

 He almost makes it to the end of the semester before he fucks it all up.

 


	4. Oops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some are human-metal contraptions, tubes dripping from eye sockets and pieces of flesh that crunch in an awful, twisted way when Keith steps on them. Some are made of stone and beat his heart into the ground in a planet that isn’t his home.

After no lunch and three cups of coffee, Keith is aware that the dark anxious feeling won’t go away, but at least he’s awake and in class. Professor Montgomery glances towards him throughout Theory of Flight. It makes him feel skittish- Keith assumes he must look horrible to get the most oblivious teacher at the Garrison concerned.   
  
Halfway through class, Keith finds out why he’s being stared at. The lecture is about complications with takeoff and landing processes. To be honest, he had been zoning out, and had completely forgotten what chapter they were on. It’s not like Keith had put any real effort into the class before; the only interesting parts were the physics. But- pilot error?   
  
He’s counting the seconds before the word ‘Kerberos’ is mentioned. Every muscle is tightly wound.   
  
Breathe. Says the voice.   
  
Keith breathes.   
  
The professor orates on. They go through technological error, events on the ground, surprise weather events. For each, there is a real life example of what could go wrong. Eventually, they reach the end. Montgomery clears his throat.  
  
“So, I was asked to discuss recent events in class today. I hope everyone in here has heard about the Kerberos mission?” There are muttered whispers among the students. Someone jabs Keith from behind.   
  
“Unfortunately, beyond the fact that there were... extenuating circumstances among the craft control systems, we really don’t know that much about what happened. Honestly, that’s a bit of guesswork too- it could have been faulty engineering, surprise atmosphere event, anything. We don’t know.   
  
“This is, unfortunately, an excellent example of what could go wrong- quite possibly, we wouldn’t even expect it. A pilot must be able to adapt as a situation demands.”  
  
Feeling like a fireball, Keith raises his hand.   
  
“Yes, Kogane?” Montgomery looks at him like he’s a powder keg about to explode. He’s not wrong, Keith thinks.   
  
“Are you telling me that the Galaxy Garrison blamed the failure of the Kerberos mission on Shiro without actually knowing what happened?”   
  
He doesn’t even wait for an answer- how fucking could they do that to me Shiro was their best pilot and they threw him under the bus without actually knowing what happened they’re lying they’re lying aliens exist- the door bangs and there’s an uproar within the classroom. Keith automatically heads for a bathroom.  
  
His stomach cramps in the worst way possible, and everything is blurry. Keith pukes in the sink.  
  
  
He curls up in a bed in the hospital wing and regrets everything.  
  
Dr. Evans came in a little while ago and Keith can hear her whispering to the nurse about suspending him temporarily or some shit. Keith presses his palms to his eyes and doesn’t cry. Getting suspended would be tantamount to falling behind a year. He can’t go through that. Shiro is out there. That’s one less year for searching, one more mark on his (admittedly not very clean) record that sets Keith less likely for selection as a pilot. Less young age for exploring, less time.  
   
Keith feels so, so tired. The nurse waits two days, filling the space with protein supplements and pills that make him feel numb. Keith’s not sure what’s in the medication, or if he ever consented to take it, but everything feels like he’s in syrup. He sleeps more than he should. He’s not allowed back to class. Keith’s not sure if that’s positive or not.   
  
On the second night he gets bored, and he can’t sleep again because his dreams are filled with creatures that don’t belong in his head. Some are human-metal contraptions, tubes dripping from eye sockets and pieces of flesh that crunch in an awful, twisted way when Keith steps on them. Some are made of stone and beat his heart into the ground in a planet that isn’t his home. There is a labyrinth in side his head that isn’t his creation. Once he turns around and Lance has his hand on Keith’s shoulder, but when Keith reaches for him he dissipates like smoke.  Some aren’t monsters, but they come pretty damn close; and in every reflection he sees someone who shouldn’t be here anymore, Shiro is falling and Keith can’t grab him.   
  
“You’re not getting away from me this time!” Keith gasps awake, and it’s just the nurse. She tries to give him more pills. Keith pretends to swallow, spits them into the trash, before lying down and staring at the dark through his eyelids.  
  
Rest doesn’t come.  
  
Dr. Evans confronts him the third day, after a lunch of protein shakes and iron-rich vegetables. Keith typically gets over slights quickly, blowing over like a summer storm in Florida- but this has been left over open water too long. Three months of perceived lies, three months of barely contained lightning and rain.  
  
The nurse escorts Keith to the guidance office after lunch. It’s humiliating, forced to walk through the halls with a guard of sorts, like he might lash out against someone for looking at him wrong. He wonders why- it’s not like he did anything wrong, exactly. Keith stumbles and falls behind a minute, and his shoulder bumps a student in the hallway. Keith is hurried onwards, but he catches a frightened and blue eye of a pilot he sort-of knows. He doesn’t have a chance to look back.  
  
The door to the office is just as normal as it ever was. Inside, Dr. Evans and Commander Iverson are waiting. It’s awkward and uncomfortable and there are no more beanbag chairs, only hard wooden ones pushed up to the desk.  
  
“Take a seat, Keith,” She says. He sits. “So, let’s get right down to it. You had a breakdown in class.”  
  
Papers shuffle. That filing cabinet folder looks so intimidating. Keith swallows the lump in his throat. “Can you tell us what happened?”  
  
He hates this. Her voice is so soft, almost like velvet on almost broken china. He’s not broken. This should not be the inquisition for him; this should be a reckoning of a different sort.  
  
Keith swallows the angry lump in his throat. “Professor Montgomery was talking about errors within launching and landing procedures. He informed the class that Takashi Shirogane blamed for the crash despite our esteemed Galaxy Garrison not actually knowing what happened.”  
  
Dr. Evans clears her throat. “I see how this might be upsetting,” she replies. “But the official report makes it pretty clear that-”  
  
“No. The official report is bullshit for the public and you know it.” Keith calls the bluff.    
  
Under his breath, Iverson mutters “Damn right it is,” and scowls at him. “You can’t handle the truth, kid.”   
  
 Keith positively explodes. Out of the chair in less than a second and his fist meets Iverson’s ugly cheek and his scraggly beard right under his good eye.  
  
“How fucking dare you, you lying asshat! Shiro didn’t crash and you fucking know it! You don’t even know if he’s dead! How dare you-“ The door slams open and Keith’s escort grab his arms and shove him back into the chair.  
“Keith, that’s enough,” Dr. Evans barks.  
  
Keith struggles. He can’t breathe, doesn’t want to be here, the room is too small for him and there’s something tugging in his head, telling him to leave and go farther away so no one can find him. A pain across the bridge of his nose, and just above his eye. A hand squeezing his windpipe.   
  
“Keith- Keith! Calm down for me, ok?” She sounds worried. “Just take a deep breath.”  
  
“Get off me! Get off me.” He snarls at the guards. “I’ll sit.” Holds his hands up. Sits. Takes in air. Iverson has his jaw covered, a purple green bruise beginning to form. He opens his mouth with outrage.  
  
“This kid needs to be expelled! Look what he did! And he has no proof behind his accusations! I don’t care if he’s the best pilot in his class, he damn well needs more discipline if he wants to continue-”  
  
 “Well maybe I don’t want to continue!” Keith’s fists hit the desk. “You lie about everything! You already have the proof, but you’re withholding the evidence! The Galaxy Garrison is a corrupt institution that I don’t want to be a part of!”  
  
Dr. Evans looks like she’s having a seizure. “Keith, please-”  
  
Iverson’s face does a dance. “You have three hours, cadet, to remove yourself and your belongings from the premises before the guards do it for you.”  
  
“With pleasure, Iverson,” Keith spits, middle fingers up on his way out the door. Fuck it, I’m gone. Not like there will be any consequences for bad behavior now. There is a nervous quaking in his hands as he flies through the hallways; lightning in his fingertips that did not quite reach the ground when his words flew away from him. Everything seems empty. Students are in class, and Keith has a feeling that no one in this place will miss him.    
  
What he has done doesn’t hit him until after he packs and is leaving the building. The intern at the visitor welcome desk gives him a cursory glance on his way past, but doesn’t stop him. The security detail at the front says nothing to him- after all, gossip travels fast among the guards, and they probably know more about the Garrison, every mission ever, especially Kerberos, than Keith does-   
  
Oh God. I quit the Garrison.   
  
He holds his head as steady as he can as the door shuts behind him. 


	5. Call

Keith waits for the bus- The Galaxy Garrison is a popular tourist destination as well as a military school and buses run to and from the dusty town, enabling a steady income to a place with nothing else. This is easy. He can wait for a bus.

 

_I quit the Garrison._

_Fuck._

He’s still jittery angry, a black anxious pit that has trouble getting air. One of the tourists sitting on the bench glances his way. “Hey sonny, you feeling ok? Do you need some water? We made the mistake of not carrying some with us the first day.” The man gestures to his kids with a water bottle. Keith shrugs uncomfortably.

 

“I live here, actually,” he mutters.

 

“Oh.” The silence expands like a dust cloud. Keith hopes he hasn’t left his gloves in the night table drawer- he can’t remember grabbing them. Its unlikely that the guards would let him back in to grab them, too.

 

The air crushes him, and in a moment of clarity Keith remembers Tammy and thinks, _Hey! Phones were invented for communication. I have a phone. Let’s communicate._ He opens a new conversation.

           

            _hey I think I just did something very stupid_

**ah keith my bro what do you need**

**i have a perfect spot to hide a body if thats what this is about**

_no actually but thanks_

_I just_

_I quit the galaxy garrison_

            **oh shit**

_I also punched iverson on my way out_

**damn son u go out with a bang**

**im really impressed but**

**are u ok**

_maybe_

_I can’t feel my anything??_

**breathe in 4 hold 7 out 8**

_m trying_

**ok**

**i’ll meet u @ ur place**

**wanna keep txting or**

_don’t you have to drive_

            **y**

_bye then_

The short messages ground him temporarily, long enough for a bus to arrive and start boarding. Keith sucks in a breath. Just take the bus home. Nothing has drastically changed in the last five minutes. Fine.

 

Fuck.

 

Keith alternatively cycles between tapping on a worn seat, restraining his hands, and fidgeting with an X-Files patch on his backpack. He can barely remember existence outside the Galaxy Garrison, which was a time Before Shiro. _Do I go back into the public school system?_ He wonders, then immediately discards the possibility. Keith had difficulty associating with those in his class at the Garrison, which were about a year older than him, let alone the teachers. _School systems are a no_.

 

Another concern: how much money is in his bank account? _I probably need a job,_ he considers. Keith’s last job was at a used bookstore; would the owner let him back? What exactly did he inherit from Shiro? Then it hits him: does he even have a place to go? What happened to Shiro’s house, Keith’s previous home? Does it belong to him, or does Shiro have relatives in some far-away place that claimed it? Did Shiro even write out a will? Would Shiro even leave stuff for Keith?

 

Shit.

 

As the bus rattles along, Keith catalogues a mental list of things he needs to find out. School, job, housing, and anything legally Shiro-related all go on the list. For now, he decides to stay at Shiro’s house anyways; after all, if they hadn’t wanted Keith staying there, they should have told him.

 

The tourist couple that offered him water earlier looks at him oddly when he gets off at a stop a mile from town. The closest stop to Shiro’s place is a mile and a half away, and in an abandoned parking lot where a Dunkin’ Donuts used to be. Keith’s not surprised, honestly, as he thanks the driver and stumbles down the stairs. He would look at himself oddly too.

 

The walk home is relaxing and repetitive. It’s familiar, above anything else, and as he kicks up his own dust storm, Keith wonders what would happen if he completely overshot the small shack in the middle of the desert and just kept walking forever. The road in front of him is unappealing. There are canyons to the southeast, and Keith considers the fact that he’s never actually been hiking through sites that tourists walk miles to see. He remembers that his childhood dream was to be a cryptid hunter, and those long lines of rock are full of caves and tunnels.

 

The tug to the canyons starts, and he doesn’t notice it.


	6. Wake Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to wake up, It grinned. 
> 
> And Keith wakes up. And Keith remembers it. And Keith is terrified.

Home is a long walk.

  
  
Keith stares at his shoes and steps. _One foot in front of the other; that's it, Keith, keep going, one more lap!_ \- track-and-field-coach Shiro says. Middle school, when Shiro (in class at the Garrison still, busy every day until ten p.m. and not allowed to leave campus) volunteered to coach the local school running team because it was the only club Keith wanted to join. _You can make it, Keith! Keith! Keith?_

__  
  
The voice is a poor impersonation of Shiro.

 

"Keith? Earth to Keith?" Says Tammy from the inside of her beaten, muddy car.

 

"Oh. Sorry," he murmurs.

 

"Boy, are you a sight for sore eyes. Get in," Tammy orders- Keith wants to walk, all the way home and further. He wants to walk and never come back- but Tam isn't asking. He tugs at the door handle and gets in.

 

Tammy doesn't talk. She presses the clutch and switches gears with a grinding sound- not a good sound to hear. Keith begins making a mental list of what problems the car has. He watches the pattern of sun on the dash, a peeling window blackout making interesting shapes. It's barely after nine-thirty, yet the faded interior is already sweltering and musty.

 

He notices the lack of air conditioning as well; as he catches up with his surroundings Keith realizes that the AC dial is missing. Tam flicks her eyes in the same direction and smiles sheepishly.

 

“Sorry about the heat,” She says. Keith shrugs. The windows are rolled down, and there isn’t much else to do about the sun. He says as much. The conversation lulls, and the car grumbles.  

 

He listens to the car. Listens and thinks- he thinks of fixing up Tam’s car, the feel of grease under his nails and the feeling of pride when it will finally stop that irritating groaning. Anticipating a smooth purr, it turns into the sound of metal bending. The sound of metal against metal, nails down a chalkboard, of tubes dripping from eye sockets and pieces of flesh that crunch in an awful, twisted way. The color purple is mood lighting in the background.

 

And before Keith blinks, it is gone again.

 

Jerkily, Tammy pulls up to the house. What little grass has grown around it is brittle. The two trees, Keith’s carefully planted trees, are visibly taller. They are tenacious. The house is in a similar state to the plants; dusty-looking, but no worse for wear (or lack thereof). Keith climbs the porch steps with his backpack carefully. The upper one sags under his weight but holds, and he pushes his shoes off before entering. It’s an old habit, one he can’t quite find himself to object to.

 

The door is unlocked. Shiro never forgot to lock it, and Keith was the last one out the door, before- before. This house is unoccupied. He walks through the kitchen and throws his stuff down next to the coffee table propped up by cinder blocks. Tam enters quietly behind him, setting her own bag under the cinderblock-supported table. Keith crashes on the couch.

 

“I’ll go make some tea,” She murmurs. Keith covers his eyes with his hand.

 

Fuck.

 

That about sums it up. He can hear Tam rattling in the kitchen, and Keith wonders if they even have tea. The week before the semester started, he and Shiro ate nothing but pizza from domino’s and waffles from the 24 hour diner in town. In his head, Keith promises himself that if Shiro is alive that Keith will totally get him back for this.

 

“Want sugar?” She calls from the kitchen.

 

“Sure.”

 

“Actually, I think there’s honey in the back...” Keith can see her reach for the top shelf on her tip-toes. The kitchen hooks directly into the living room, where Keith is sinking into an old, smelly, maroon pull-out couch. A spring pokes him in the back. It probably needs to be replaced at some point. Keith adds that to the list.

 

The house is small in the way an RV is small; enough room for one person to live comfortably, but with terrible interior decorating and a vaguely bad smell. The wall opposite the kitchen is badly cracked and the dry wall is peeling. Shiro had tried to build it before basically adopting Keith; there were, after all, certain standards that he had to maintain to take care of a child, and having more than one bedroom was one of them. The wall had cut off part of the living room from the rest of the house, and a doorframe had been added into the hallway, across from the dingy bathroom. Shiro had taken the makeshift room and given Keith his own.

 

Tam sets his mug on the table.

 

Keith’s eyes start leaking. Fragrant steam wafts towards him from the mug of tea. Tammy produces a folding chair from somewhere, as Keith occupies the entire couch.

 

“Spill.” She says, cradling her own mug.

 

Keith manages to get the story out. But not all of it- He leaves out Matt Holt’s possible sister. He leaves out the aliens, and the theories, and the fact that Shiro might be alive but probably isn’t. Between tears, he takes tiny sips of chamomile tea. He can’t tell Tam about it. She’s so reasonable; Keith can’t imagine her responding with anything but skepticism. He doesn’t want to argue. He just wants to sleep.

 

At the end of the story, she gets up and passes him the paper towel roll. He wipes his eyes.

“That doesn’t sound legal,” Tam mutters. “There must be some accountability or something. This sounds like they’re trying to keep an investigation into the crash from happening.”

 

Keith shrugs and glares at the steam rising from between his knuckles. “Yeah, well, apparently the entire US government agrees. Iverson implied that this was top secret or something.” Keith supposes he’s not really lying, as Iverson did imply it, just to Holt, not him.

 

Tam glances his way. “So, what are you gonna do about it? They didn’t make you sign anything to make you be quiet, right?”

 

Keith shakes his head. The bus ride home had let him think ahead. “I can’t do anything to them directly. They’ll be able to pass me off as ‘emotionally unstable’ or some bullshit.” He picks at the fraying edge of the couch. He can do research, he supposes.

 

She snorts. “Babe, you’re definitely emotionally unstable.” Keith thinks this is supposed to make him feel better, but really it just adds to the hollowness in his chest.

 

“At least I’m self aware! You couldn’t tell emotional instability from normal feelings if it hit you in the head,” Keith snaps back. He’s not really joking, but Tam laughs anyways. Silence falls for a minute and she takes a gulp from her mug.

 

Swallowing, Tammy says, “Seriously though, Keith, this whole... ordeal has been a bit of a trip for me, and I’m not really involved. These past few months have been rough. Maybe just...”

 

Keith bursts into full-on tears. Tam trails off and leans over the coffee table.

 

Keith hates crying. He sounds like a little kid. He’s a red-eyed, snotty mess only five seconds in. It’s a miracle he’s held it in this long, too- the past three months, all the confusion and anger comes rushing out. The last time he cried like this... He was eleven, and Dad had come back for all of five minute, and not even for Keith. Just for a stupid package.

 

Now, Tammy almost hugs him in the same way Shiro did. It hurts.

 

"It'll be OK, dear," Tam soothes. "Let it all out." 

 

"It-it isn't fair...." Keith blubbers back. Tam runs her hands through his hair. "Shiro can't... Shiro isn't dead, he can't be dead. He, he, can't be dead, Tam." Tears roll down his face. 

 

His head is resting on Tammy's shoulder. He breathes. Rattling lungs break the silence. It feels like there should be more resistance than this, to breathing. It's so easy just to let it all go. 

 

It shouldn’t be this easy.

 

Eventually, Keith pulls his head up. 

 

"Better?" Tammy murmurs. He nods. He tries to swallow, but his throat is too closed up.

 

"Can you get me some water, please.” Keith croaks. She rises with both of their mugs and fills his in the kitchen sink. She walks back.

 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” He says. Tam nods.  

 

“Let’s watch a movie.” It isn’t a suggestion. Keith scooches over on the couch, while Tammy grabs her computer bag from under the coffee table and opens an Internet browser. She sets up a cute movie about a woman who falls in love with the florist catering the flowers to her wedding; Keith isn’t in the mood. He buries his head in Tam’s shoulder and drifts.

 

When Keith wakes up, he remembers the vision so vividly he imagines it wasn’t a dream at all. He could see... flashes, of figures floating in some kind of jar. The feeling of claustrophobia rushed onwards. And his left arm had really, really hurt- the kind of searing pain that was felt through the bones but only focused on one body part.

 

He couldn’t move. He could only stare, watch sentries of metal strut past. And then. One of them stopped in front of him. Tapped on the glass. _Time to wake up_ , It grinned.

 

And Keith wakes up. And Keith remembers it.

 

The vision leaves him with such a poignant feeling of immobility that he rolls off the couch and onto the floor, just to prove he can move. He cannot sit still. The urge to run away from this nightmare is so powerful that Keith doesn’t even check the time. Most of his clothing is on the floor next to him in a backpack, anyways. It’s easy enough to slip into athletic shorts and a t-shirt and shoes and just dash out the door.

 

Time feels like a lie. Three (four?) days ago he discovered that the Galaxy Garrison wasn’t only lying about the fact that the Kerberos mission had discovered extraterrestrial life, but it was common knowledge that the Garrison wasn’t actually sure what had happened and had put it off as Shiro’s fault. It’s evening now, the sky a majestic cerulean blue. Keith isn’t sure how long he slept. He slips off the drowsiness like a snake shedding stretches his legs along the beaten path.

 

He knows he’s not a particularly fast runner but stamina builds over time, regardless of his adrenaline-fueled night running. Keith figures that he’s about three miles in before he stops to enjoy the view.

 

Ba-bum-ba-bum-ba-bum, his heart says. Keith agrees. He’s pretty in love with the sunset. He’s at the top of a decently steep incline, with a fissure that carves stretch marks into the ground. The earth has been growing here. Keith half expects it to shift as he sits down along the edge.

 

The drop below him is breathtaking. Sky meets ground somewhere in the distance. The colors mingle, pinks and golds with the cerulean to the cobalt to the royal blue abyss above. The ground is red and orange and dark and light and in some places glimmering, as if lanterns were calling for a friendly hand to carry them. Keith wants to carry the lights in the palms of his hands, let them seep into the creases and make him feel warm and large, warm and protected and powerful. The sun makes him warm, but he feels small, teetering on the edge of a cliff with no humans around for miles.

 

Keith wonders what it would be like to jump.

 

Then the claustrophobia of glass jars strikes him. It occurs to him that running alone at night in the desert without a phone might not be a good idea, either.

 

He sets off jogging home before the sun completely sets.


End file.
